Catching up....

oh dear... quite a long time since the last post... but frankly, that's the issue with working and the end of year at school. Multiply all this by 2 when the girls go to different schools and when there is work at work and work at home...!
After being the most unpopular and uncool mum in the universe (at least), I managed to lose even more points when I announced that my forthcoming trip to the US was cancelled- bribery (Ok, I know, in a previous life, I had said that bribery would never know my address... well only stupid people don't change their minds..!) anyway- bribery for no tears and keeping bedroom tidy was to bring back any Hannah Montana stuff I could find. How cool. So how not cool that the trip is cancelled. Cruel, unreliable mother, what's the point of you going to work, we wonder...

Tried to regain some ground during the week end. Took Fille Ainee shopping - actually, emptying the bank account at the school uniform shop. Wasted nearly 1 hour, to then find out - supreme humiliation - that my cheque book was empty. Back home to swap cheque book, and write a phenomenally far too high cheque... And Fille Ainee was not even impressed. It's school stuff. Ok, I never said we'd go trendy!! And later on, found out that all this was a real waste of time, given that the whole shop is going online in September. Don't bother telling (working) parents. Rant over.

Later on, took Fille Ainee to a sleep over. Where she was with another 7 or 8 girls. My idea of a pure nightmare. Until, it turned into a nightmare. I got a phone call at midnight (you'll notice that I got the phone call, not Cheezy Sleepy Hubby). Fille Ainee was panicking as she could not sleep and got scared with the intensity of the fireworks. Well, after all, she was in Surrey's American Corner, on the evening of 4th July. And they like to do things in a grand way, the Americains. So here we go, they shook the hell out of her and she could not sleep (by the way -they being the fireworks, just in case you are not following...) So I jumped in the car, to find out that the road to get to the sleepover was closed, about 500 meters from the house, as works were being done on a railway cross over... Damn. No Tom Tom in the car, and obviously, did not have a clue about any other way. And for God's sake, it's was midnight. So got out of the car, forgetting that I was wearing shorts and the top of a nightie (thank God it was dark!!) and told the blokes on the road: "Look, I need to come and pick my daughter, she is 9, and ill, and on the other side of the cross over. Any chance I can get through?' (Now, read that again, as fast as you can, and try again in a panic voice - you get the picture. Or rather the sound. I'll spare you the picture). Blokey number 1 goes:"Course you can love, we are not closing the road until half twelve, so you have 25 min." As if it was obvious from all the signs, not. Blokey number 2 goes: "and don't worry, if you come back through later than half twelve, we'll go and talk to big boss and am sure it'll be fine." Ok, thanks Mate, and I'd rather avoid talking to all the blokey mates in the road right now. Half in short, half in nightie. Crossed over the railway, picturing a train crushing the car at high speed, as I guessed the works were to maintain the cross over- imagine the titles the next day "Mother committed suicide over cost of uniform" (Daily Mail) or "Broke Froggies desperate suicide" (Sun?).
Got to the house (sorry - mansion. It's a place that makes Windsor looks like a gardner's house...) to take Fille Ainee home. Crossed over the railway again, picturing new titles such as 'Mother and daughter in suicide pack' (News of the world) or "Mother's desperation at sleepless daughter' (mail again?). Anyway managed to take Fille Ainee home safely. Who by the way, fell asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow.... as for me, could not go back to sleep before the early hours... I guess that's just a preview of what's waiting for us in a few years time... nice hindsight.

As for Sunday, decided to start cutting more trees (as part of the marsh transforming project...) while Lovely Cheezy Hubby was cheering for tennis, and Tinker Bell decided to give directions on how to cut trees (from the other far end of the garden. Wise). A couple of trees down later, a few scratches, bites and several near misses (I now have mastered on jumping of ladders to avoid trees. A skill, believe me!). Ended the afternoon with cooking Sunday lunch (or whatever it should be called at this point) to be told that it might as well burn, given that tennis is so not quite nearly finished. I don't care who wins, but please, save my chicken. I can now claim a new recipe - Charcoal Chicken. By the way, talking of tennis - so is Andy Murray a Scot, a Brit, a what?? all this geography a mystery to the French. Radio 4 gave it a good answer... (see the following link, scroll down to 8.22: http://news.bbc.co.uk/today/hi/today/newsid_8114000/8114111.stm)
And another one that made me laugh this morning: http://news.bbc.co.uk/today/hi/today/newsid_8135000/8135515.stm
scroll down to 8.30 for that one. It's not at all about Murray, or tennis. But it's an interview of Tony Blair, and if you listen to the first word he says in response to the first question: "Look..."Sorry am on the radio, can't look. And listen to the last set of questions about whether he should have given budget to green energies development (or whatever) when he was prime minister. The answer is straight out of Bremner, Bird and Fortune. Brilliant. A masterpiece of spin.

And last but not least - the latest from Tinker Bell: could not sleep, did not want to sleep last night (probably not warm enough as she seemed to fall asleep dead easy when we went through the heatwave...). So was (obviously) doing rolly pollies on her bed. Until we heard a massive noise through the house. She had fallen from her bed. Rolly pollies going wrong at their best. Once the tears had finally stopped and the question of 'why on earth was she doing rolly pollies at 9.30 at night?' was asked, the obvious answer came through. Well, I can't do them on the tarmak, it hurts; I can't do them on the carpet, it hurts too; and I can't do them on the grass as it's nightime (why on earth that did not come up about the tarmak will remain unanswered); so I can only do them on the bed". So when I explained that it is obviously dangerous as she can hurt herself falling off from the bed, we open a new gate of tears / flash floodings, as 'it's not fair, I'll never be able to do rolly pollies ever again'. Harsh mother. But the question was really about the time, not about the rolly pollies anyway. That remains unanswered too, as clearly, Tinker Bell has a bit of Tony Blair in her and is the master of spin when it comes to it... anyway - she finally went to bed, with a bruised bottom...

Last but not least - today was our 13th anniversary. Or as TinkerBell put it - does that mean you have been married 13 times?? Blimey, I know a grand father who would stopped footing the bill!! Managed not to burn supper (and it was not all precooked), not to shout at the girls (they went to bed) and not to argue with CheezyHubby (amazingly enough, he decided to agree with everything I said. Daaaaaaaaaaaaarling, could it be like that every day:?!). Happy Anniversary!